Sex and Candy
by Naria Lacour de Fanel
Summary: A ficlet involving a contemplative Undertaker and an encounter with Grell.


Title: Sex and Candy

Author: Naria Lacour de Fanel

Paring: Undertaker/Grell

Rating: T for mild language and implied situations

Warning: Implied M/M, OOC waxing poetic, slight AU

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, and I definitely don't own the song! Kuroshitsuji if property of Toboso Yana and "Sex and Candy" is property of Marcy Playground.

A/N: Could be present time, could be Kuro time, could be modern day steam punk-ified bordello! I don't know. I don't care. The timeline was messed up anyway, seeing as they had Model-T's and mobile phones in the series. This could be in a world where Undertaker and Grell have never met, or they could just be playing games. Again, I don't care. Interpret it however you like.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

//Hangin' round downtown by myself  
And I had so much time  
To sit and think about myself //

One would think that the "life" of a Death God could never get boring, seeing as we have all of eternity to find way to keep our minds occupied or lose them consequently. Considering the arduous length of our existences, boredom is gallingly common. However, watching the vibrant play of someone else's life flicker by when one can hardly remember what one did last week (let alone in the lifetime one has left far behind) can pitch a rather heavy weight on the soul. Seeing something so bright and vivacious, even if for only a breath of time, reminds the soul of what one perhaps once had. Dwelling on the past and finding no answers (ironically by one's own carelessness) is never amusing. Therefore, looking for the next thing to keep one's vexed and deniably jealous mind occupied is the only option left.

//And then there she was  
Like double cherry pie//

A red haired enchantress sashays into my life on impossible stilettos and I am held captive by her compelling magnificence. Given my mood, I had never expected something so enthralling to wander my way. Simply put, she is glorious. Cascading scarlet locks shimmer in waves down to shapely and entirely too tempting hips. Her immaculate red dress gives teasing hints of her captivating form as she coyly turns to cast dangerous jade eyes upon me.

//Yeah there she was  
Like disco superfly//

And on her flawlessly painted ruby lips, a come-hither-and-fuck-me-rotten smirk the likes of which I've never seen makes me take her home.

//I smell sex and candy here//

She is soft and sinfully fragrant and entirely too willing to let me divest her of troublesome garments. I savor her soft lips and tender flesh as I peel away layers of rich fabric, slowly revealing the choice morsel underneath. As I finally reach to unfasten the dress once and for all, she stops me and says that I must take care to hang my coat and hat should I desire to keep them intact. I grin at her. I know she's only toying with me, trying to prolong the tension and mystery we are both painfully attracted to, so I genially acquiesce and leave the room.

//Who's that lounging in my chair//

I return to see my crimson siren having made herself right at home, matching the décor perfectly. She is languidly draped over the awaiting arms of a plush brocaded wing chair looking to all the world like one who has fallen from grace and gladly strolled into a den of sin. Her dress is cast off to the side in a rumpled heap much like a scorned lover, plainly a warning of her fickle tendencies; satisfaction is mandatory or I will be joining the dress. Her leather encased legs still sport the impossible stilettos as they playfully dangle over one arm of the oversized chair. But the piece de resistance is the delicate scarlet and black lace that clings to the enticing contours of the equally delicate male body.

I dare anyone to call her anything but Milady.

She brings her aptly named "bitch stick" to her lips and slowly inhales, obviously savoring her cigarette. She turns to look at me.

//Who's that casting devious stares  
In my direction//

She turns those wicked emerald eyes on me, devouring my own scantily clad form and raises an elegant eyebrow. Her eyes focus on my groin, clearly confused as to why I am holding my hat there.

"I thought you were going to put that away," she says softly, her voice carries a cadence of amusement.

I grin viciously.

"Ah, but a gentleman always raises his hat to a lady." I answer as I make a show of taking my hands away from the hat that is acting as a modicum of decency for my naked self. It "miraculously" stays in place.

Her eyes slightly widen in surprise as an equally vicious smirk bedecks her lips. She sets her cigarette down and crooks a dainty finger at me.

Come-hither-and-fuck-me is about to begin.

//Mama this surely is a dream//

+_+_+_+_+_+_+

…Yeah. I got the song stuck in my head and couldn't stop thinking of Grell being a saucy wench, so I wrote this. Undertaker was rather loquacious, wasn't he? Oh well. I was also inspired by my friend **sandmich under duress** _(read "Pringles" it will enrich you life!)_ with the whole hat thing. She planted the idea in my head a long time ago. I'm just glad I finally got to use it!


End file.
